Free Love at 11 by Mari Mancusi

her own and wasn’t too keen on encouraging her friends to engage in such activities.
    “Since when is your type a blond? You’re always dating brunettes. You hate blonds.”
    “Tastes change. Besides, I like Owen Wilson. He’s a blond.”
    “Right.” Jodi gave me a weird look and went back to searching. Unfortunately, there were fewer blond-haired Czechs who lived in Southern California and surfed than one might have imagined.
    “Click on him.” I pointed to a cute blond guy. Jodi complied and a profile popped up.
    Ah-ha! He was perfect.
    Blond, blue-eyed surfer. Lived in Czechoslovakia for several years as a child though he was originally from Germany. Under hobbies he listed surfing. I couldn’t believe my luck. My imaginary guy actually existed. I should try this Match.com thing more often.
    According to his profile, Ted liked long walks on the beach, cuddling up to a roaring fire. Thunderstorms. (Why did everyone always put that in their “likes” category? Was it supposed to be romantic or something?)
    I pushed Jodi out of the way and jotted off a quick e-mail to Ted, asking him to check out my profile and whether or not he wanted to go out tomorrow night. I normally would have been a bit more coy, but these were desperate times.
    Then I went in and changed my profile so my likes agreed with his likes. Sure, I didn’t really enjoy foreign films or follow European football all that closely, but the likelihood was that these topics wouldn’t come up on a first date anyway and I only needed that one date to prove to Jamie I hadn’t lied.
    I clicked back to his profile to see what he put under family. Ten kids?! He wanted ten kids? Wow, I felt bad for the woman he’d make his broodmare. But okay. I typed “ten” under my desire for kids. Why not? I wouldn’t know him long enough for it to matter.
    Satisfied that I had created a profile that would intrigue him, I clicked off the site. Tomorrow night at this time, I was sure to be on a date.
     
    *
     
    Ding, dong!
    Why did the doorbell always ring the second I stepped in the shower? I could be conditioning my hair at four a.m. and someone would be sure to stop by. It’d better not be a vacuum salesman, I thought as I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Or some Girl Scout. Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad on account of getting some cookies out of the deal. Thin Mints. Mmmmm.
    Ding, dong!
     “I’m coming!” Whoever it was, they sure were impatient. I scurried down the hallway, clad only in my towel, and opened the door.
    Lulu. And she had a big backpack, stuffed to the brim. “Hey, sis, what’s up?” I asked, already kind of getting the gist.
    “You said I could stay with you, right? Well, here I am.” She pushed by me and dumped her grimy backpack on my beige IKEA couch.
    Oh, great. Just what I needed. My crazy sister living in my tiny apartment. She stayed with me for a weekend once when my parents went to Vegas, and she trashed the place in two days. It was not for nothing her childhood nickname had been Pigpen.
    “Did something happen, Lu?”
    Lulu slumped down on the couch, putting her combat-booted feet on the coffee table. “Dad took off to go be with what’s-her-face. And Mom hasn’t been back from shopping.”
    “What?” I asked, alarmed. “She never came back?”
    “Nope. I stayed up ‘til like one a.m. last night and there was no sign of her. When I woke up, I was still alone. I decided to skip school and wait for her. But she’s not back yet.”
    Fear raced through my heart. This was not good. Not at all. Mom could be lying in a ditch. She could have rented a hotel room and committed suicide. She could be dead. My mother could be dead!
    “Omigod. Omigod. What are we going to do?” I asked, not really addressing my sister, since I knew she would have no solution. I grabbed the telephone and dialed Dad’s cell.
    “Hi honey,” he answered. “I’m so pleased to hear from you.”
    “I’m not calling for a friendly